


and the stars did wander

by admiralholdo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, I Don't Know How The Force Works, Multi, Other, and I don't really care I just want some Padme/Leia heartbreaking mother/daughter times, because i'm fun like that, uh so this is my first fic so., uuh sort of spoilery for the last jedi, yeah kinda spoilery about the last jedi So., yeah.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralholdo/pseuds/admiralholdo
Summary: There was a girl once, full of fire and rage and determination, who carried many ghosts.One of the ghosts was there first, and it was the ghost of another girl, from long ago, who was too brave and was swallowed by timeAlternatively: The ghost story of Padmé Amidala, trailing after Leia Organa, and what it means to live beyond death.





	and the stars did wander

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh. This mutated from a very simple, very indulgent idea into... whatever this (still very indulgent) thing is.  
> I wrote this in a three-day fevered haze and have no actual idea if it makes any sense, I only know the word count is way beyond what I initially planned, so. Sorry about that. Also, if there are things that are jarringly wrong wrt the actual Star Wars canon history I'm, uh, sorry about that too. My memory is shit and I have no real concept of time and I'm sure that even with the 30 wookieepedia tabs I had open at the moment of writing this I still messed something up.

_The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars_

_Did wander darkling in the eternal space._

George Gordon Byron, from ‘Darkness’

 

===

 

There was a girl once, brave and bold, who believed she could save the galaxy. She was not particularly strong, or big, but she was smart, and spirited, and she stood in front of the mounting chaos and tried to wrestle the stars.

She would not win, and the stars would swallow her name, and her memory, but something would be left, and that would be enough.

 

≈

 

An Alderaanian philosopher enters his class late, and proclaims he was visited by a ghost in the night.

‘‘Ghosts are not real. Death ends the self. Unless you’re a Jedi, or something,’’ a student says.

The professor stops, smiles. ‘‘Death ends nothing, because death is not real’’

‘‘How can death not be real?’’ asks another student.

‘‘It is not real in the finality we conceive it as. It is a change of states. From one thing, to another. The law of the Universe’’

‘‘But, if everything that makes you _you_ changes into something completely different, then isn’t that a kind of finality, death in its classic sense?’’

‘‘Maybe. But that depends on the importance you give to the present self, don’t you think? Plus, a ghost does not change the whole self, a ghost is a memory of the self. It is not final, nor is death. So, if death’s not final, then who says that a person cannot change from solid to an existence in the fringes, just as real in another plain as we are in this one?’’

The students are quiet, until one lifts a hand. ‘‘What is even the purpose, though, of a ghost?’’

The professor smiles. ‘‘Ah, there’s the real question’’

 

≈

 

When she’s seven years old, Leia is convinced a ghost is following her. She’s so sure of it, she tells just about everyone who will listen, which, for a princess of Alderaan, is a lot of people.

_(‘‘A ghost, princess?’’_

_‘‘Yes, a ghost.’’_

_‘‘What kind of ghost? Is it friendly, or mean?’’_

_‘‘Friendly, I think. It’s… warm.’’)_

She’s not afraid, not really. It doesn’t even cross her mind to be afraid. Mostly because the ghost doesn’t actually _do_ anything. As she explains to her mother, the ghost is just a warm presence, a kind of halo that’s wrapped itself around her. _There_ , but not invasive. It never moves things, or tries to talk to Leia, it’s simply present. It makes her feel accompanied, safe even.

‘‘Darling, are you sure you just haven’t been in the sun for too long?’’ her mother asks with wry humor, extending a cool hand to place it on Leia’s forehead for good measure.

Leia, however, will not be discouraged. She informs her mother that she is, indeed, sure. Not that she doesn’t spend a lot of time in the sun. The princess of Alderaan is, much to her father’s amused exasperation, more attracted to the outdoors than to long lessons in galactic politics in quiet studies. But the ghost is there whether there’s sun, rain, light, or darkness. Leia can feel it outside when she’s running across grassy fields, and she can feel it at night, when she’s tucked in bed ready for sleep. She’s certain, and says so to her mother.

Breha Organa takes one long look at her daughter, something in her eyes shifting from a quiet mirth to a serious contemplation. Leia doesn’t quite understand it then, and will only think back to this moment years later, when her mother is no longer there to ask her if she knew.

‘‘Alright, darling. If you say so, I believe you,’’ is what her mother finally says, her tone serious enough that it pings Leia’s curiosity. Just as quickly as it was gone though, the twinkle returns to her mother’s eyes, and she adds, indulging, ‘‘Just make sure that if you’re going to keep it, you care for it’’

Leia smiles, and nods enthusiastically, far happier about the prospect of getting to keep a ghost – as if it is something to be kept – than any normal child would be.

But then again, Leia Organa is no ordinary child – nor is the ghost following her an ordinary ghost.

 

≈

 

Leia Organa, princess of Alderaan, youngest elected senator of the Galactic Empire, war hero, General of the first Alliance and later of the Resistance, will accumulate many ghosts throughout her lifetime. The ghosts of a whole planet, the ghosts of friends who she did not get to say goodbye to, and of those she did, the ghosts of those who still live, the ghosts of faceless victims, and the ghosts of enemies and soldiers who might have been something else, in a kinder galaxy.

Not a single one of them will be like the first ghost, the one who used to quietly follow her as she tore through the halls of her home as a child, even if Leia forgets about it from time to time, from the weight of carrying all the others.

 

≈

 

The second to last time Leia sees her father in person, they are in Naboo for an Alliance mission masqueraded as official Senate business.

(Leia takes to do this, throughout the years, number the moments she spent with her parents backwards from the very last. She doesn’t mean to, does it mostly by reflex.

They all have their small tricks for survival, and this is just one of the many Leia develops)

Bail Organa is not a man who is often outwardly sad. There’s a spark of quiet amusement never far from his eyes, whether it’s real or put on. But Leia can see it as they touch down on the capital of the Mid Rim planet, a sadness drifting over her father until it’s covered his every feature, his posture, his smiles.

(Not that anyone would notice, Bail Organa has been a politician for many years, a rebel for almost as long. He knows how to compose himself, and he taught his daughter how, which is how she can spot his small tells)

Leia doesn’t dare ask, because they’re on a mission, because however much Leia may have resisted politics as a child, she _learned_ , and she learned from the best. So, Leia doesn’t ask, but she stands a little closer to her father, and hopes that he can tell that she notices.

She watches him, easy and smooth and effortless in his words, handling the diplomacy like he was born for it, with a grace Leia can still, after all her training, not quite manage. But Leia has learned, so she catches how, when they pass a row of statues erected in honor of the past queens of Naboo, her father’s eyes drift to one of the lasts in the line, observe for just a moment longer than normal interest in architecture or art would require, before smiling what is his mostly feigned smile to their escort.

The visit is mostly a blur of formalities and too-tight-smiles, all of which they navigate without a hitch. Leia is not exactly fond of diplomacy, but it always feels easier when she has her father next to her.

They only get a moment to be alone late in the afternoon, when Leia and Bail find themselves right at the edges of the city, in the small upstairs living room of an old fruit seller who her father claims sells the best sweet grapes in the galaxy. Leia knows they’re here for more than that, though, as they patiently wait while the fruit seller in question, an old woman with wrinkles lining her lovely face and a wicked smile, rummages for something in the room next door. The room they’re in is small and cozy, tall cabinets of worn wood lining one wall, and a drawer with many trinkets – flowers, dolls, figurines, bottle filled to the brim with dried fruit – on another. The room has one window, thrown wide open, through which Leia can see the outline of the famous Naboo mountains. The breeze that drifts inside is sweet, and fresh, and smells of the ocean and wet grass. On the window sill, a small statue of a woman is pointed towards the mountain. Leia, who is never very good at sitting still for long, stands from her seat and walks to the window, ghosts her fingers tentatively over the figure. She can feel her father watching her.

‘‘That’s Lady Hope,’’ the woman says, appearing as if out of nowhere, startling Leia so much she takes two steps away from the window. The woman cackles, showing Leia all of her teeth, two of which are prominently missing in the front, and Leia blushes. ‘‘It’s alright, little princess, I don’t mind you looking. I made it myself. It’s the one I’m most proud of. Makes me feel better when I look at it every morning’’

The woman walks to Bail, and drops a small scroll of paper on the table. ‘‘You’re in luck today, Bail. I still have to find the other one, but I think that won’t take much time’’

Bail smiles at the woman, and picks up the small scroll of paper. ‘‘Thank you, old friend, really. You have no idea how helpful this is. And Leia and I don’t mind waiting’’

The woman’s returning smile is kinder, and she pats Bail’s hand like he’s a son that’s made her proud. She makes to go back to the adjacent room, Leia assumes to look for the other scroll that’s missing, but she stops just at the threshold, and turns her dancing eyes to Leia. ‘‘Lady Hope was fashioned after a queen we had once, little princess, a real good one. Kind and fiery, that one. The eyes, specially, I think I got ‘em right. Better than that empty thing down in the city, anyway. You should ask your father about her,’’ she says, with a last wink towards Bail, and disappears into the other room.

Leia feels, strangely, like the room’s become a bit warmer just now.

Her father’s looking at the statue, as if he hadn’t noticed it before, and cannot notice anything else now. He doesn’t say anything immediately, and Leia knows it’s probably better to wait until he does.

He leaves his seat, finally, and goes to stand near Leia, to the other side of the statue. He turns it carefully with the tips of his fingers, and smiles. ‘‘She did get the eyes right,’’ he says, more to himself than to Leia. Then, his voice a little thick, ‘‘I did know her, you know?’’

Leia recognizes it is the same queen whose statue her father’s eyes had drifted to as they walked through the streets. Some of the face is the same, but Leia has to agree with the woman. The one in the entrance of the city was, what had she said? Emptier. This one is less magnificent, a woman in a gown with blue-white flowers in her long, loose hair, and kind eyes. There is a loving precision, a careful attention to detail in this one, though, that makes it seem more real. It’s as if the old fruit seller knew the queen personally, and loved her deeply.

Leia glances at her father, then back at the statue. She did know. She’s heard half stories and incomplete whispers, about this queen of Naboo, the youngest ever, the most beloved, the untimely gone. She knows her and her father were both senators of the Republic, friends, and she knows that her father’s brightness seems to dim whenever she is mentioned even in passing.

But Leia’s never asked outright, although she’s never been sure why she hasn’t.

She still doesn’t, now, just nods and waits, strangely devoid of breath.

There’s the hint of a smile wanting to tug at her father’s lips, as he says, ‘‘You would’ve liked her. And she would’ve liked you’’

Her father’s words sound like a compliment, so Leia nods, and thinks that she wants him to tell her what she was like, why he seems to still feel her loss so heavily. What comes out instead is: ‘‘What happened to her?’’

Her father’s expression twitches, a multitude of emotions swirl in his clear brown eyes, and he takes a deep enough breath that Leia thinks she might actually get a real answer. Bail looks at her, a kind smile now gracing his melancholic face. ‘‘I’ll tell you someday, Leia. I promise’’

It feels heavy, too heavy, for Leia to understand just then. She swallows and nods once, looking away from the sadness in her father’s face. They’re quiet for too-long seconds, all of which Leia counts, until her father, whose fingers are still ghosting over the head of the statue, asks: ‘‘How’s your ghost?’’

Leia blinks, her eyes snapping to Bail. She feels as if she’s been suddenly taken off course mid-lightspeed jump, and she’s not sure, for a moment, of where she is. ‘‘What?’’

Bail is smiling, but it’s the kind that’s all contained in his eyes, barely visible on his lips. ‘‘Your ghost. You do remember it, right?’’

‘‘I—yes, I remember,’’ Leia stops, confused. In all honesty, she hasn’t thought about her ghost in a long time, what with everything that’s always happening. Survival and secrets and scheming, Leia feels sometimes that if she blinks for a moment too long, not only will she and her father be dead, but the whole Alliance will be doomed. She doesn’t really have time to think about warm ghosts following her around, not when she’s started to build a collection of less-than-friendly ones. ‘‘I haven’t really seen it a lot lately’’

Bail looks strangely sad at that, but he smiles at Leia, the kind of smile that always used to calm her as a child, and then looks back at the statue of queen Padme. ‘‘Well, if you do see her, tell her I said hi’’

It is only later, when they are boarding their ship to leave Naboo after a somewhat successful mission, that Leia realizes her father had called the ghost _her_ , even though Leia had never communicated her suspicions to anyone that she believed the ghost to be a woman. She wants to ask, how he knew, or if it was just a lucky guess. But her father is looking out the window at the diminishing Naboo, his face sadder and older than she’s seen it in a long time, so Leia finds a couch to lay down on and starts going through the reports of the last Senate meeting, trying to distract herself from the warm presence shimmering at the edge of her senses.

 

≈

 

War is unforgiving, and cruel, and cuts short lives as it cuts short promises.

Leia will learn this quickly, with Darth Vader standing like a void of blackness behind her, and the spot of what used to be her home – with her parents in it – quickly turning into a void of stars ahead of her.

In the daze that follows the destruction of Alderaan, one of the many thoughts that crowds Leia’s mind is this: her father, Bail Organa, who kept promises like the greedy keep count of their wealth, will never get to tell his daughter about Padme Amidala, queen of Naboo.

Leia wonders if it’s possible to carry other people’s ghosts, and thinks that, as the last living person of Alderaan, she may have to learn how.

 

≈

 

Bail Organa never gets to tell his daughter about Padme Amidala, queen of Naboo. Leia learns the story eventually anyways.

The story goes like this:

There was a girl in Naboo once, in a time of terrible instability for the Old Galactic Republic, she was all of fourteen years old, and was chosen queen. She was as spirited as she was young, as smart and loving as she was determined, as desperate to help as she was unconcerned by death. She looked out at the shattering state of the galaxy and believed she could fix it; she looked at a boy with a black hole of power surging in him and believed she could save him. And there: the galaxy’s ruin and the first spark of the galaxy’s salvation; there, too, the girl’s doom.

See, this is a ghost story, and a ghost story requires death and requires haunting.

Padme Amidala would not survive the rise of the Republic’s unnamed ghosts, which fueled in rage the power of the blood-forged Empire. Padme Amidala would die, seeing her life’s work shattered, and her husband turned into a shell of unaltered rage. Padme Amidala would die and leave two children who would not know they had a mother to grieve, but who would carry her legacy better than any statue in any city of Naboo. Padme Amidala would leave behind a spark, a small fragile thing, but she would not leave her name, and that would turn her into the type of ghost that is most tragic and most divine: the one that is forgotten, but does not leave.

 

≈

 

Padme Amidala, some stories go, died of a broken heart.

‘‘That is ridiculous,’’ Leia says to the woman who tells her that bit of the story, sitting across from her in a tiny corner table in a dingy bar in a planet forgotten by both the Empire and whatever is left of the Republic. Leia finds that is places like this, pockets of the galaxy as forgotten as a once queen of Naboo is, where she can find the truest stories. She’s been collecting bits and pieces for a long time, trying to form something – anything – that might resemble reality, that might resemble the story her father had promised to tell her. She’s heard many things, many versions of the same tale, many improbable narrations of the queen of Naboo’s death. ‘‘No one dies of a broken heart,’’ she says, and she would know. Leia’s heart, at this point, is little more than pieces held together by sheer determination and will, a little spite, some love. If one could die of a broken heart, Leia would have stopped making trouble for the Empire a long time ago.

The woman shrugs, and lifts her dubiously purple drink to take a long sip. ‘‘That is what is whispered’’

‘‘Well, they are stupid whispers’’

The woman chuckles, shakes her head. ‘‘That is life sometimes, girl,’’ she says, as if Leia doesn’t know. The woman’s eyes are a little darker now, but she’s still smiling, like it’s all one long dark joke. ‘‘Sometimes it is just stupid’’

Leia can’t argue with that, and she doesn’t. She forces down the acrid purple drink like she likes it, changes the topic to safer things. She had not meant to ask about her, had only done so because she had been handed a pamphlet on political debates by a stranger standing in front of the entrance of the bar, titled _The Naberrie_ , and something in her memory had stirred at that. But there are more pressing matters, so Leia gathers all the information she came here to gather, information not pertaining to the ghost of a woman who lived too long ago, who was once friends with her father.

 

≈

 

So, Padme Amidala is a ghost story. Leia is not sure she’ll ever piece it together entirely, she’s not even sure she wants to. But she is a princess of Alderaan, and a rebel, and a general, and a survivor, and she carries worst ghosts than this by now. What’s one more?

 

≈

 

Leia does not think about either too frequently – her childhood ghost or Padme Amidala. First, there’s a war to be won, then a Republic to restore, then, when the First Order rises, a Resistance to run.

Leia Organa accumulates ghosts quickly throughout those years, and it is not the kind, warm ones she thinks of most. She thinks that is an unfortunate, but necessary, part of herself, as much born with as acquired through war and suffering, that makes her see the shadows first.

She falls back into them, however, from time to time. When the days are too rough and there’s no one there at night she can fall back against, Leia lets herself feel the warm presence that’s never really been gone – just ignored, or more detached –, and thinks about a queen most people seem to have forgotten.

 

≈

 

The girl is young, probably as young as Leia was when she became a senator. She stutters and blushes and apologizes, dropping the screwdriver she’d been holding when she enters her X-wing to find Leia in it, as if it is her and not the General who is trespassing.

She is one of the newer pilots. Leia knows because she does not recognize her entirely, and cannot place her name yet.

Leia holds up a hand, gives the girl a reassuring smile. ‘‘Oh no, no need to apologize. _I’m_ sorry, actually, I was just making my rounds,’’ she says. Then, apologetically, she adds, ‘‘I don’t usually break in my pilot’s ships but I saw this and, well, just wanted to see it from up close.’’ Leia lifts her other hand, showing the small flower pin she’d been holding. It is made of a strange material, smooth and cool, slightly gleaming, and it smells like a riverbank. Leia saw it stuck to the inside of the X-wing’s windshield, and was suddenly reminded of the second to last time she saw her father, in a planet far away, too long ago. She was inside the X-wing before she could talk herself out of it.

‘‘Oh,’’ the girl scratches her cheek, leaving behind a grease stain. She looks so young, and Leia feels, not for the first time, angry at this war for taking yet another generation of kids into its huge, ever-hungry jaws. ‘‘That is—that was my grandmother’s. She says it’s—well, it’s supposed to be Hope’s Flower’’

Leia quirks an eyebrow. In all her years traipsing the galaxy, Leia has heard every type of superstition and tradition, but she has never heard this one. ‘‘Hope’s Flower?’’

‘‘Yes, it’s—well it’s not really _widespread_ in Naboo but, some people think these little white-blue flowers that grow near the edges of Naboo lakes give you good fortune. Like, charms. They’re supposed to have been blessed by this dead queen, because they were her favorite and she was buried with them, or something. I don’t really—,’’ the girl stops, blushing, looking furtively at Leia like she’s been caught saying something she didn’t want to say. ‘‘Um, my grandmother thought it would always help me fly true’’

Leia hums. She doesn’t always feel her ghost, these days. But she thinks, maybe, that there is something warm around them now. ‘‘And does it?’’

‘‘Does—? Oh, oh, the pin. Flying,’’ the girl scratches behind her ear, and Leia tries to suppress a smile. It is in good luck that this girl chose to be a pilot and not a spy. ‘‘I guess? I haven’t been in too many. Battles, that is. But I’ve come back of every one, so far. That counts for something, right?’’

Leia looks at the girl for a moment. She has a collection, in a see-through box in her room, of lucky charms that made it back without their pilots (pilots who did not have any other family to leave their things to), a collection that would be doubled if Leia were to count those that were lost along with their pilots. Everyone always seems to think they are Leia’s to keep, to safeguard, and she is a woman who keeps ghosts, so she has come to accept the responsibility.

But this girl is young, and her eyes are filled with a kind of tentative defiance, and Leia will be damned before she allows herself to lose hope, as small as it may be.

She smiles at the girl. ‘‘Yes, it does—,’’ Leia pauses, realizes she has not asked the girl’s name yet.

It takes the girl a few seconds, and she blushes again as she catches on and says, ‘‘Oh! Um, Jobal, General Organa. My name’s Jobal’’

‘‘Jobal,’’ Leia says. ‘‘An old Naboo name’’

‘‘Yes. She was a queen’s mother’’

Leia smiles, and squeezes the flower pin gently one last time before handing it back to the girl. ‘‘Yes, she was. Well, Jobal, I do hope you fly true always. And do forgive an old woman for disrupting your space. We old folks tend to wander’’

Leia leaves the girl clutching her flower pin in her X-wing, eyes shining. All the way back to the control room, Leia swears she can still smell the fresh scent of a Naboo riverbank trailing after her, along with a presence that seems to have grown warmer.

 

≈

 

The next time the pilots return from a mission, Leia’s eyes drift over their faces as they pour into the control room. All the pilots that took off are safely back, and occasions such as this have become so increasingly rare, Leia feels like she could cry.

Leia finds Jobal among the returning pilots, sweat sticking her hair to her neck, a cut across her cheek that’s still bleeding slightly, but when she catches Leia’s eye, she smiles like nothing could be better. Leia sees the Hope’s Flower pin attached to her uniform, and smiles back.

That night, alone in her quarters, Leia breathes a silent thank you to the ghost of a young Naboo queen.

 

≈

 

The holo is old, and faded, and Leia is not sure where R2 got it from, or how long he’s been holding on to it. She forgets, sometimes, how old the droid is. She forgets that he’s seen empires rise and fall, forgets that he’s seen three generations of Skywalkers make and remake the galaxy.

She forgets, especially, that he might have once known a young queen of Naboo.

He shows it to her a couple of weeks after he’s been re-awakened, on a night when there’s only Leia in the control room, pouring over plans and reports from across the galaxy, trying to keep her mind off Luke, and Han, and Ben. These days, Leia feels like the war against the First Order would be easier to solve than the one in her family.

The projection glows blue in the dark room, and Leia’s breath rushes out of her body as if on its own will when a woman appears in the frame. She has warm, sad eyes that remind Leia of a small sculpture she saw years ago in an old woman’s house. When she speaks, her voice fills Leia’s head completely, reminds her of a presence, of a feeling – maybe the oldest feeling she remembers having, of a name whispered with a last breath.

_‘‘Hi, Ani. Just checking in to see if you were doing ok. I heard that things weren’t so good down there and I—I hope you’re taking care of yourself. And, oh, regarding your message, no I haven’t heard anything from Ahsoka at all in a while. But I’ll keep my ears to the ground, just in case,’’_ the woman pauses then, her head tipping up, as if she’s heard something. There’s something like regret in her eyes when she focuses back on the message _. ‘‘I have to go, and so does R2. Please take care of yourself, Ani. Hope to see you soon. Love you’’_

The holo cuts off, the blue image shifting, and then it picks backs up, but the message is clearly different, as the woman’s hair is now loose in long curls where before it had been up in an elaborate hairdo. She looks, Leia thinks briefly, more vulnerable here.

_‘‘I’m not sure what we can do now, but there must be something. I know there are senators we can sway to our side, if need be. I’m sure it won’t be easy, but I feel like we’re running out of time, Bail. And I’ve been talking to Mon-M-’’_

The holo sputters and crackles for a moment, and then it returns to normal, but having swallowed a part of the old footage.

_‘‘Still, we must keep hope, Bail. I know it’s—I know it’s bleak now, but we can’t give up. We can’t just let this go, for the good of the galaxy, we just can’t.’’_

There is a pause, the woman looking down for long enough that Leia thinks maybe the holo’s frozen, but then she’s looking up again, and her eyes are shining, but there’s a faint smile on her lips that Leia realizes, suddenly, reminds her of Luke. _‘‘Well, I hope this reaches you soon. And I hope you’re doing well, and Breha too. Please send my love, Bail. I hope to see you soon, and I hope the circumstances are not so dire when I do’’_

The holo sputters out, bleeding all the blue from the room and leaving it black once more. The room, which had been cold before R2 came to present Leia with the holo, is now slightly warmer. Not by much, not enough that just anyone would notice, but Leia does.

Leia sits there, and blinks. She counts her breaths, and feels her heartbeat drumming a staccato pattern in her chest.

_Tell her I said hi_ , her father had said, when he had asked about Leia’s ghost while they waited in a small house in Naboo, all those years ago. Leia is not sure what she is feeling, only that it is a lot, and that it must be sending ripples across the Force.

R2 beeps a series of questions that startle Leia back into the present. ‘‘What? I’m not—,’’ but Leia touches her cheek, and her fingers come out wet. ‘‘It’s alright, Artoo,’’ she says, and she puts a hand on the droid’s head, pats it a couple of times. ‘‘Thank you, I— I don’t know where you were keeping that but, thank you’’

R2 makes a few more beeping noises, all doubting Leia’s state of ‘alright,’ but she reassures him and tells him it’s ok to leave, that she’ll be leaving soon too. R2 does leave, after clucking like he’s Leia’s own mother for a few moments more, leaving Leia alone in the control room.

Or, not alone. After all, a ghost may not be a full presence anymore, may not be considered as a _someone_ , but Leia Organa has been carrying this ghost for all of her life, and it counts to her.

She knows the ghost can’t speak, she knows that neither Leia nor the ghost have that kind of power to disregard the rules of the Force. Leia has always played by her own rules, has never acknowledged the Force with anything but a sidelong glance and a stiff nod. Like, _Yes, there you are, I see you. But you cannot have me_. The act of keeping this ghost – keeping Padme Amidala, who tried to save Anakin Skywalker from the gaping jaws of the Force, Padme, who paid for that insolence with her life – has been a lifelong defiance, which they have done together. But even that has its limits, and Leia can’t find it in her to be anything but thankful for what she already has.

So, she sits there, and simply _feels_. She can hear Luke’s voice, younger and pulled somewhere from her memories, of the one time he’d tried to get her to reach out and connect.

( _‘‘Just reach out,’’ he had said, earnest, like it was the easiest thing in the world, as natural as breathing. And maybe it was, for him._

_Leia, younger and more insolent, had theatrically reached out a hand, eyes closed. ‘‘Like this?’’_

_Han had chuckled, and Luke had rolled his eyes. He had tried for another fifteen minutes, and then Leia had declared the session over for good_ )

There is a heartbeat – hers –, and further away, the heartbeat of every rebel on the base, their even breaths, their steady pulses. There is the beeping of machines, the hum of electricity. There is the light shift of the earth beneath her, the night wind whistling outside, the moonlight shimmering. There are the stars, high above, burning and shining. There is, in the distance, almost too far, Luke. There is the Force, everywhere, watching her. It is not every day, after all, that this Skywalker twin reaches out.

In the room, right in front of her and all around her, there is Padme Amidala, once queen of Naboo, once senator of the Republic, once, almost, her mother. Leia can see her face, sharper than in the holo, kinder. She can see her eyes (the old fruit seller, Leia thinks, had really gotten them right), and her smile. She looks like Leia (enough that she now understands the glances she’d gotten from certain senators who had also known her father during the times of the Republic). She feels, in all her relentless patient kindness, like Luke.

Leia releases a long breath, and says, ‘‘My father says hi’’

The air crackles around her, and a warmth like she’s never felt (or maybe she did, once, in her first moments in this galaxy) seems to fall over the room, momentarily soothing all the terrible things that are Leia Organa’s daily life. It feels, too much, like a mother’s embrace.

Leia leaves for her room shortly after, sure that R2 will come back if she doesn’t. The warmth does not follow her, but she feels safe anyway.

 

≈

 

Leia takes, after that first time, to watching the old holo after hard days. When they’ve lost too many people, or when an ally fails to answer, or when the memory of Han feels like it’ll drown her, or when Ben’s anger and misery sends a spike of electricity across the Force that she can’t ignore.

Poe walks in on her once, his eyes half closed. He frowns at the holo, and asks Leia who that is.

‘‘An old friend of my father’s,’’ is all she says, before she shoos him away with a promise that she’ll leave to go to sleep soon.

(Poe shares that with R2, that concern for her wellbeing that is both slightly annoying and heartwarming. She hopes she has enough time left, to make sure that he grows into the leader she knows he’s meant to be)

They all have their tricks for survival, and one more for General Leia Organa is hardly anything.

 

≈

 

It is not a victory, what they manage in Crait. It is not a full rebirth either. It is barely an escape, with everyone battered and diminished and bruised. But it is _something_. It is the chance to live another day, which is something Leia Organa does not take lightly anymore.

 

≈

 

When the initial commotion finally dies down, and they are locked in on their next destination – another planet that Leia mapped long ago in case this exact situation came to be –, Leia finds Rey alone in the main cabin of the Falcon, eyes firmly on the endless expanse of void ahead, hands on the controls.

Leia just watches for a moment, half here, half in the hideout in Crait with Luke’s barely warm hands on hers and his last words ringing in her ears, _No one is ever really gone_.

Leia thinks of Han, his absence so tangible in this cabin she can feel it like a swirling black hole. And yet here they are, the last scrappy remains of the Rebellion, being whisked away to fight another day by the ship he loved so much.

Leia thinks of Amilyn, her absence still so fresh, Leia can still feel the press of her hands against hers, can still see the silent blast of the explosion behind her eyes if she closes them for too long (Leia doesn’t think she’ll sleep much, in the days to come. But she doesn’t think anyone will question her, because it’s not like the General slept much before anyways). And yet the few of them that are still alive are here because she is not.

‘‘You know, I think you’re better at this than Han ever was’’

Rey doesn’t startle, and Leia didn’t expect her too. Luke was like that too, after a while, impossible to scare. It used to annoy Leia endlessly.

Rey had been crying, Leia can see from where she’s now leaning against the controls, but her hands seem firm, and her posture is not as tight as it was when they first boarded the ship. ‘‘He had a particular style,’’ is what Rey says, and Leia can’t help but smile. There’s Han still, with his uncanny ability to make lost things love him.

‘‘Oh, that’s one way to put it’’

Rey briefly turns her head towards Leia, and smiles. Her eyes are still red-rimmed, still a little haunted, and Leia wishes she could pick up every one of this girl’s ghosts and carry them herself. But she has learned that ghosts are very personal things, and cannot be taken, only shared by those who carry them.

They are quiet for a few moments, the silence punctuated by their breathing and the soft whir of the machinery. Finally, as if she were releasing a long-held breath, Rey says, ‘‘Do you think we’ll make it?’’

Leia knows she could interpret that question in its more literal sense of making it to their next planetary destination. But she knows, somehow, that Rey’s question is searching for more than that. Will they make it? The simple answer is that Leia does not know. Thirty-odd years ago, she would have said yes, with all the fervent belief only youth allows. But Leia is older, and has been fighting the same tyrannical foe in one capacity or another for most of her life. She has come to terms with the idea that she, personally, might not see the end of this fight.

But Rey is young, and Leia is, by all accounts, the most experienced person on this ship. She owes her, and every person still left in this Rebellion, a more honest answer. ‘‘We’ll do what we can to make it,’’ Leia says. She watches Rey’s face closely, sees the mix of emotions in her eyes, and places her hand on top of the girl’s. ‘‘And if we don’t, Rey, someone will, and they will because we’ve gotten this far’’

Rey’s lip twitch slightly, and she nods gravely, already wiser than a girl her age should be, and squeezes Leia’s hand.

In that moment in the Falcon, there is only that: Rey’s hand in Leia’s, the stars ahead, and the warm presence that for the first time, Leia suddenly realizes, not only she can feel.

There is still some time before they reach their destination, so Leia takes a deep breath, and asks, ‘‘Do you want to hear a story?’’

Rey’s eyes light up, and she nods. Leia smiles, feels a warm press against her, like a hand against her back, and begins, ‘‘It’s about a girl who lived in Naboo, a very long time ago,’’

 

≈

 

_What is the purpose of a ghost?_

There was a girl once, full of fire and rage and determination, who carried many ghosts.

One of the ghosts was there first, and it was the ghost of another girl, from long ago, who was too brave and was swallowed by time. This ghost had been forgotten, her name lost but from a few. She would not be remembered, her name would be left out of most stories, as if she had not even been there at all. But she would remain, like a whisper, or a ripple, or a single particle of light, traveling across the galaxy, making its home in strange, bereft places. In a room with a view of the Naboo mountains, in a daring pilot’s uniform as a pin to fly true, in the quiet determination of a General, in the kind perseverance of an old Jedi.

It was not much, but it helped the girl who carried many ghosts get up in the morning, it helped her breathe, when she felt she couldn’t anymore, it helped her manage her other, hungrier ghosts.

And that was enough.

 

===

 

_Nothing is with me now but a sound,_

_A heart’s rhythm, a sense of stars_

W. H. Auden, “Compline”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. First fic ever, folks! Please leave (kind?) comments so I know if this is, like, mildly coherent. Thanks!  
> P.D. Look. I know holos probably don't work like the tape recorders of the 90s but George Lucas looked at Padmé fucking Amidala and decided that she would die of a broken heart so honestly we can just do whatever we want there has been no logic since then.


End file.
